Thursday, December 11, 2008

OK. Back to real sailing today. No Rants on the Racing Rules for a while, as it seems that some of my regular readers don't like them. But I do have some more really cool photos of demolitions that I found on The Googler Image so I will have to return to the Demolition Series soon...

My 92nd Laser sail of the year was on Bristol Harbor last Friday afternoon. Winds were light and patchy so I didn't stray too far away from the beach. Didn't want to get becalmed and have to do that silly 'stand in front of the mast and waggle it about' trick to air row myself a mile or two back to my dolly against an ebbing tide.

Mainly I just did sausages in the top end of the harbor, using a keelboat named Althea that was moored near Bristol Yacht Club as the windward mark.

I like sausages. Yesterday for lunch I had bangers and mash at Aidan's Pub in Bristol. My grandson's name is Aidan. Pretty cool that he has his own pub already. I like pubs too. Life is good.

There you go 'regular readers who are repelled by racing rules rants'. Wasn't that fun?

For the record, I don't dislike the wonkishness, just as I don't dislike sorting the recycling every other Tuesday and putting out at the curb at the last minute. It's nice to do things for your family, however, it's nicer to eat pizza. Pizza with sausages is good, too.

Can you cram in 37 more sailing sessions to hit 129 by the end of the year? Or better yet, why not just put up three Polamalu fans and then a -36 next time you sail? The complex math would go well with the wonky sea-lawyer talk going on around here lately.

Sure, everyone talks about Abe Froman. Only the wise guys know what happened.

Sausage is a tough game.

In Chicago, somebody's always out to smoke your links. It ain't all linguica and limousines. One day you're lapping up the bubbly with Lincoln Park ladies, the next they're fishing you out of the lake. Abe was a smart sausage man, maybe too smart for his own good.

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